


Good Enough

by FlitShadowflame



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Halward's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sickfic, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a DA Kink meme <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=52002165#t52002165">prompt</a>.</p>
<p>The Iron Bull has had to reassess a lot of his assumptions, since meeting Dorian.</p>
<p>Particularly the one about Qunari and falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt is included in the end notes, but they contain spoilers, so, y'know. Read at your own risk.
> 
> This was written in one sitting, briefly glanced over, and then posted. As a result, I am fairly dissatisfied with all of it, but...I love this pairing and I wanna contribute to fandom.

The Iron Bull forgot sometimes, how fragile humans were. Krem was tough-as-nails, and the rest of his boys were, too. They were his most frequent companions, the people he walked and laughed and lived with for the past five years or so, and so he'd lost track, at some point, of what "normal" was. His men took care of themselves, didn't complain, didn't get sick, or they managed it silently when they were. The Inquisitor, Cassandra, Vivienne, Solas, hell, all the Inner Circle, they took their hits and just kept going, bandaged wounds and didn't fuss. Didn't show weakness.

But then he'd met Dorian and, well. Dorian did _everything_ different. He complained constantly, about the cold and the wet and the sun and the sand, the blood and the rips in his clothes, the rocks on the ground he could feel through his bedroll. He spoke wistfully of Tevinter's warmth but never indicated a desire to return, and Bull had wondered what had driven such an obviously spoiled mage of the first class to run south and live like a fugitive, like a _savage_ , as Dorian would say. He had teased the mage, eager to fluster him, to see the pretty mask twist into a grimace or a snarling retort.

Dorian said so much, all the time, that the Bull almost missed the fact that he did not, really, say anything at all. Not about himself or his past, anyway. Not even about Felix, who he was obviously very close to, and absolutely nothing about his family aside from the occasional comment that his father "would disapprove" of something.

It wasn't until the Iron Bull met Halward Pavus that he realized he'd missed some fundamental truths of Dorian's life. First: the 'Vint hated himself for a pile of reasons that were mostly bullshit, but could almost all be laid at his father's feet. Second: Dorian had probably been a few kind words away from a breakdown for months, judging by the volume of tears he produced over what had to be quite an old hurt by now. Third: the 'Vint fully expected to be disbelieved. He was shouting about Halward's lies like he was shouting at a wall; not because he thought he'd be heard but because he couldn't bear to go silently to the same fate.

Even days later, Dorian shied away from them, from all of them (even the Inquisitor!) like a kicked dog desperate for food but conditioned to expect pain instead.

Dorian had complained about the things that didn't matter, the things he could handle easily (the weather, the wet and the sand) because his problems were so horrific he couldn't even think about them without starting to cry and shake. The more Iron Bull thought over it, the more it made sense: the Inner Circle was filled with people who had come here from positions of power and respect, to fight for a world that may yet condemn them for it. Dorian had fled...well, something like reeducation, and in doing so, he'd become something like Tal-Vashoth; an exile adrift in a sea of competent, confident people. He'd covered with sarcasm and complaints and fabulous displays of magic, but the Inquisitor, Bull, and Varric, they had seen beneath the mask now, and Dorian was waiting to be cast aside, told he was useless to the Inquisition without the poise and power of an Altus.

The Iron Bull was shit at offering comfort, but he tried anyway. He started teasing Dorian again, a little gentler, with a bit less of the overt sexual tone and a bit more genuine admiration. He even said once, as Dorian emerged to trade watches with him:

"The Boss doesn't do headgames, y'know. If you weren't wanted here, you'd be gone."

Dorian faltered, nearly tripped over a tent peg, and collapsed wearily at Bull's side. "I...thanks, I think."

"I know the rank and file can be shitty. They don't bitch at Krem anymore for being a 'Vint because he bashed a few heads in, and they don't say anything to my face because no one's tall enough or ballsy enough, but...people always fear what they don't understand. You don't have to hide here, 'Vint. In fact, you may be better off hiding less."

Not that he expected Dorian to take that kind of advice immediately. Time passed and things changed, and somehow Dorian wound up in Bull's bed more often than not, and Bull's steady stream of fun, meaningless nights with random women and men of the Inquisition came to a complete halt without him minding one whit. Dorian was more than enough to keep a man busy.

And Dorian, it turned out, had all manner of interesting things to say, and try, and do with Bull. He flourished in every way, smiling more, making friends with Chargers and Cullen and soldiers and scouts alike, impressing some by winning drinking games, pleasing others with a gift of a flower made of folded paper, or just a smile and a free round. He went from being disturbingly quiet in bed to vocally appreciating Bull's body and his efforts. He suggested to Fiona that the young apprentices in the Inquisition really ought to continue their educations, which somehow led to him covering pyromancy classes whenever he was within Skyhold's walls. The kids liked making him swear in Tevene, and the Templars appreciated that he requested one present at every class, "Given the unpredictable nature of fire and the inevitability of an accident when children are involved with magic."

Bull knew Dorian could take care of any magical accidents of that sort by himself (he'd taken care of the flaming curtains without even looking at them, just waving an idle hand in their direction and snuffing the flames with a thought), but he also figured the Templars would benefit from seeing Dorian with the kids, realizing that the big bad 'Vint had a serious soft spot for little magelings and wasn't actually teaching them blood magic or anything like that.

The thing between them became a Something, more than friends who fucked regularly, more than shield-brothers comforting each other, more than anything the Iron Bull had any memory of experiencing. But he didn't say anything, because as open as Dorian had become about most things, he still hid any "weak" emotions behind sarcasm and scathing invective. He still panicked when he was treated better than expected, he still slipped out of Bull's rooms before the sun rose more often than he stayed.

Then one day, Dorian stayed curled in Bull's arms far longer than usual, his breathing unsteady, his skin oddly warm. He woke with bleary eyes and a sorrowful little moan.

"Alright, Kadan?" Bull asked. He tried not to use the endearment aloud, but it slipped more and more when Dorian was around.

"W...water," Dorian said weakly, closing his eyes. Bull grabbed the glass from the nightstand and helped him drink, growing alarmed as quite a bit spilled from the corners of Dorian's mouth. Normally his mage was far too neat to allow such a thing.

"Are you...sick?" Bull asked uncertainly, gently stroking Dorian's forehead, wiping away sweat and frowning at the heat.

"No," Dorian protested, but it rang false. "'mfine. Need coffee, 's all. Need a bath."

"You need a healer," Bull said, because Dorian couldn't even sit up. "Let's put some clothes on you and I'll get you to the infirmary." Carry him there, if necessary, and it looked increasingly like it would be.

The healers settled Dorian in a cot without questioning Bull's assertion that the mage was ill. One of them felt Dorian's throat and armpits, then the inside of his elbows.

"He's fighting something awfully hard," she said. "I can't be sure, but this might be the childpox. It shows up in adults sometimes, ones who haven't had the disease, but without the lesions, the pox, it's much harder to detect. And it's far commoner in the South than it is north of the Free Marches."

She frowned at Bull. "It'll be a rough few days, but if we can keep him cool and hydrated he should be fine. The fever is from the body trying to fight the disease, but the disease itself isn't that harmful, so his real risk is actually the fever."

Bull nodded seriously, realizing after a moment that he still had a hand on Dorian's arm. "I'll visit after weapons practice," he told Dorian, who looked dazed. "Does he need any special food?"

"Nothing rich or heavy," the healer answered. "Beyond that - comfort food is traditional. Soups, soft breads. That sort of thing. If you'd like to bring him meals, I can write a note for the kitchens? Otherwise it tends to be oatmeal and overcooked stew," she grimaced. "It's easy to get down but so tiring to have the same thing...I'm sure he'd appreciate the variety."

"Me or my boys will bring something by for lunch and dinner. He eats oatmeal most days already." The Bull glanced down at Dorian, who'd fallen back asleep. "Is the tiredness normal?"

"For a sick human? Absolutely. He'll feel tired, sore, and generally awful until the fever passes. The childpox will make him feel weak and itchy, and likely give him a blighted awful headache, earache, or both, so he probably won't be able to walk, either."

"Wait, what?"

"Damage to the ears impacts balance. Dunno how it works in Qunari, but humans and elves for sure. Saw a man who got tortured, Templars stabbed right through his eardrums with some small knife I suppose. Walked like a drunken sailor, falling over and running into things, and never could hear after that. Nor handle stairs without injuring himself. But the symptoms for Messere Pavus will only last if his ears are hurting."

"Right. I - I should go," Bull mumbled, because something about the healer's words and Dorian's distressingly still form made him feel pretty ill, too. He spent most of the day barking at his Chargers and giving Krem a pounding - until he noticed the same healer he'd spoken to awkwardly lingering at the edge of the sparring ring. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked. "Is Dorian alright?"

"He's - he keeps asking for you, Messere, and he won't eat his soup..." she said helplessly.

Bull didn't wait for her to say anything else, just headed straight for the infirmary.

Clouded as Dorian's eyes were, rheumy with fever, they still lit up when they landed on Bull. He made an abortive hand gesture towards the Qunari before sagging into the thin mattress. He'd been sweating bullets, still was, from the looks of the soaked pillow and his limp mustache.

"Hey, big guy, heard you were causing trouble," Bull said gently, taking the stool at Dorian's bedside. He found the soup on the nightstand and stirred it, sniffing a bit. "Now your dinner's going cold, baby."

Dorian patted Bull's thigh clumsily. "Need you..." he said in a hoarse croak. Bull started spoon-feeding him without inviting further conversation, just kept up a soothing litany of meaningless commentary.

By lunch of the second day, it was obvious that Bull's presence would be required for Dorian to eat anything at all. He grew distressed when he couldn't see Bull, and outright fearful when presented food or water by anyone else, shaking his head and trying to crawl away, lips pressed tightly together.

"They're not going to poison you, Kadan," Bull told him when Dorian again shook his head at the healer's offered waterskin.

Dorian only clung to Bull's arm without answering.

By the third day, the healer said Dorian's fever had gone down enough that he would be safe staying in the Bull's rooms, as they were still quite near the infirmary if anything went wrong. Bull had his Chargers fetch buckets of snow that he carefully iced Dorian down with, and not one of them commented on the misuse of mercenary labor when they saw how pale and weak Dorian was, how strained the Iron Bull's face had grown in caring for him.

It did seem to help Dorian, the familiar room and Bull's constant presence. He was more focused, even if he was clearly in pain, and he'd sigh and lean into Bull's embrace more willingly than ever before.

"Need you," he kept saying, and Bull tried not to read too much into it. "Need you."

"What do you need?" he asked finally, on the fifth day. "Tell me what you need from me, Kadan."

Dorian blinked at him and closed his eyes once more, murmuring into Bull's chest, "Love you. Need you. Need you, so much, love you, you make me feel so..." he paused, huffing out a breath. "Like who I am is good enough. Please, I need you. No one ever...no one else ever does that. Never 'good' just 'do better.'"

Bull took a deep inhale, stroking Dorian's sweat-damp hair. "Oh, Dorian," he sighed. "We...we should talk about this when you're feeling better."

Dorian's muscles tensed and he started to shake. Three hot, wet drops fell on Bull's chest before he realized Dorian was crying.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby," he said, tipping Dorian's chin up. "Don't cry, Dorian."

"S-still...not...g-good enough," Dorian said with heart-wrenching bitterness, and the Iron Bull realized he'd failed to communicate properly what he meant.

"Oh, no, you're so good," he crooned, stroking Dorian's cheek. "So perfect and sweet. I - I care about you, so much, more than I ever - don't ever feel like you're not enough for me. You're perfect, and I don't want you to change and I certainly don't want to change you, unless it's by making you happier."

Dorian hiccuped and gradually got his tears under control. Bull gave him more water. "I love you," Dorian said again, softly and still so painfully uncertain.

"Not really sure what that is," the Iron Bull said gruffly. "But - I think this might be it." He kissed Dorian's forehead. "Kadan. My heart."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want the whole text of the prompt without clicking the link:
> 
> "Dorian gets sick with a bad fever and Bull takes care of him, cooling him down, soothing him, etc. Dorian's fever makes him delirious and he admits just how much he cares for Bull. Bull is taken back by it but tells him once he's better they'll talk. Dorian takes it as rejection and panics until Bull reassures him. The sweeter the better."
> 
> But that covers the entire plot so I didn't want to use it for a summary, lol.
> 
> Also, here's a background detail that I couldn't work in because it's Bull's POV: while feverish, Dorian is hallucinating about the room his father held him in until the ritual was ready. He was force-fed water and food laced with magebane to keep him weak and unable to fight back or escape. Both elf and human slaves were sent with the drugged food, so Bull being a Qunari snaps him out of the delusions enough that he remembers when and where he is.
> 
> Dorian has no idea how long, exactly, he spent in that room. But it was sparse, with a cheap cot and little else, nothing he could focus on to distract himself, and the infirmary is distressingly reminiscent of that, especially with the off-white curtains set up to enclose his bed for privacy. It just makes the "room" more confined and removes the door, the tiniest possibility of escape, so Dorian is increasingly upset. The hole in Bull's ceiling, the window and door, are all hugely reassuring. He may not be able to sit up under his own power, but at least he isn't trapped in a featureless box.


End file.
